Peitho
by burrblefish
Summary: Survival consists of improvising, adapting, and overcoming. A permanent defect and many regrets. A million "I'm sorry"s that are too late. Poetry in motion, and the parallax of life. :: NejiSaku, SasuSaku


**Rated M for language and themes**

* * *

**PEITHO**

* * *

**_Peitho:_**_ the Greek goddess that personifies seduction and sexual and political persuasion_

* * *

Karin frowns at the back of Suigetsu's head, utterly irritated and willing him to explode on the spot. Whatever seething glare she flings he only seems to laugh at. "Tell me I'm wrong," he mockingly urges, falling into step beside the sensor kunoichi. She blanches and scoots to the left as they walk but he doesn't care much of it. "Tell me that I'm lying."

She knows he isn't and frustratedly vents it by slapping his arm. The space muddles into water so that she can pass through. _"Quit it!"_ Her eyes look forward to check on Juugo and their team captain, cheeks flushing pink. "Can you shut the hell up already?"

"I don't get it," Suigetsu remarks, sticking his pinky into his ear. "The guy honestly didn't give a fuck about killing you and you're _still_ trying to hop onto his di—"

"Suigetsu."

Karin's horrified shriek dies down; her body stiffens instead and the unperturbed Hozuki glances over. "Yeah, boss?"

"Perimeter. We will camp here," comes the low command with very little inflection. Flashing a row of razor sharp teeth, Suigetsu salutes even though Sasuke can't see, then disappears from sight. Karin, thoroughly uncomfortable from what Sasuke most likely heard, cringes sharply at the idea of being left alone with him, which is a prompt one-eighty to what normally runs through her wants and needs.

She rushes the last few steps and closes the gap between her and Juugo, who stands two feet away from their leader. When she arrives, the gentle giant offers a warm smile and nothing more, something she scoffs at to keep up appearances. In reality, it's that smile that makes her flustering cool.

"Karin." She nearly yelps at the piercing tenor of her name and stutters out an indication of her attention. "Set up camp. Juugo, come with me."

Juugo sets down his pack carefully in the small clearing they've entered, surrounded on all sides by greenery and low-hanging foliage. Sasuke does the same, and the two exit in the direction of the river they had been running parallel to since exiting the ferries from Kiri. Their plans are to glide into the northern point of Yuga and head into Shimo, then around. It's Sasuke's personal mission to avoid areas of both conflict and of deep remembrance, she notices.

Despite Nami being a good city to stop in, Sasuke skipped it. He also intends to skip going west after Yuga to avoid the Valley of the End and Oto all together, instead going west after Kumo into Yuki. Neither bring him good memories. Fire Country is debatable but he never guides them near outposts owned by Konoha; the same goes for Wind and Suna. It's the bigger cluster they're after to the far west, intending on combing through all of those small villages for—well, for whatever reason. Karin hasn't quite understood what that reason is.

She frowns again, unwinding her pack and pulling out the compact pouch housing her sleeping bag. Following Sasuke after the war had been an act of devotion that she, Juugo, and Suigetsu willingly performed. Karin remembers that day so clearly that it tugs something in her chest.

The Konoha Elders were executed for their crimes while he served a mandatory prison sentence—all of Team Taka did, but he was put in the lowest level with the highest security. A year after it, the new Council, built from various clan heads, and the elected Rokudaime Hokage Kakashi Hatake, hosted his trial. It was a messy ordeal but all in all, he'd been let free for what he'd done in the war.

But Karin thinks that even though Konoha allowed him back in with—essentially—open arms, Sasuke has always been a stray bullet. She also thinks that Kakashi knows this.

That is why Kakashi granted him his retirement of being a Konoha shinobi.

She unfurls the last of the sleeping bags—Sasuke's, actually, even though he doesn't really lie in it and chooses to sleep in the tree branches. Vivid faces flash through her mind; two, in fact. Team Taka had been called into the Hokage's office when it'd happened, and ironically enough, the broken Team 7 had been there too. Their shared member, the lost Uchiha, stood in the middle of the room.

It's a strange notion to think that though his back had been to Karin, Suigetsu, and Juugo, what Team 7 saw was the image of Team Taka as _four._

The blonde boy started screaming immediately, flinging profanities at both the Rokudai and at his old best friend. Karin filed him away, knowing enough from the war that her distant blood had a deep connection with Sasuke, but too enthralled to feel anything more than pity. Kakashi attempted to placate him, saying that Sasuke's been pardoned, hailed as a hero, and should have the opportunity to live his life the way he wishes. They were just excuses to pacify them, all of them. Naruto wanted none of it because this is _their home_.

_"You can be happy here!"_ he roared, violent chakra coming to life. Karin winced when cold, hostile energy emanated from Sasuke before her. _"Right when we have you, you're just going to _walk away?! _No, Sasuke! This is where you can do it! Bring glory back to your damn clan where it all started!"_

Sasuke's signature flared threateningly but his shoulders remained still. Their pissing contest continued and Karin glanced from the Rokudai to the blonde, then to her captain. Vaguely remembering Team 7 had a female—the one who saved her, actually—she looked to the other occupant of the room.

Green eyes, once so vivacious and fierce and warm all wrapped in one, stared hollowly at the Uchiha who hadn't acknowledged her much since entering the room. Something in them died.

Such a sight briefly stripped down Karin's excitement into guilt.

* * *

Despite what they've been through, Karin can't help but fall back into a few old habits. Though she is not as clingy or obnoxious, she is still stubborn, hard-headed, and continues to find Sasuke Uchiha attractive. It must be built in his very person to be so frostily charming and devastatingly beautiful because though he once was a killer, his redemption has smoothed his jagged edges into fine points.

She sometimes off-handedly wonders whether his intention to revive the Uchiha clan is still something he wants, whether it's for restoring the glory of his name, or just for the sake of having a family and a successor to keep the Sharingan alive. Those days she grows hotter in temperature and rubs her thighs together; she is the only woman around him—has been for the last three years since they'd left Konoha—and surely that must mean something.

It is morning the next day and she is sitting against a tree, eyes trained on the way Sasuke moves. He's like a feline, full of grace and unwasted gestures in every task, even with something as menial as burying the firepit they'd used. His arms flex—both his only natural one and the prosthetic the Godaime Hokage gifted to him after his prison sentence and before his retirement request. It's paler than him but he has trained it to match the definition and dexterity of the other; both ripple with minute muscle movement and she takes it in sharply, breath bated.

Juugo is hunkering around, securing water canteens to the packs with a gentle downward slope in his brow. Suigetsu is downing one of the three he has been given.

"Sasuke," he calls after wiping his lips. The leader straightens after brushing dirt onto the charred branches. "Yugakure is en route, y'know."

The suggestion is in his tone and Karin quickly averts her stare to Sasuke. The only thing on him is a frown aside from the usual apathy.

"We don't have ti—"

"We have all the time in the world, and you know it." Sasuke purses his lips, glaring at the water nin. Suigetsu only crosses his arms and stares back. They know he is right; they've decided to stand by Sasuke on this journey and it's lifelong and would not suffer from perhaps two nights spent in luxury when they've mostly been camping and hunting and foraging. Karin thinks Sasuke dislikes permanence so he can't say no to an inn and an onsen.

Finally, he grunts and turns away, rocketing to the tree that he'd slept in to maybe get his pack. Suigetsu chants, "Score!" and pumps a fist into the air. Karin feels a vague sense of deja vu.

* * *

Thirty minutes later and in the trees, Karin sucks in a gasp.

Did Sasuke say yes because Suigetsu reminded him of Naru—

_No_, she affirms. He _left_ them._ Not the other way_ _around. He can't miss what _he_ willingly abandoned._

She is comforted by the thought but not satisfied because it somehow feels like an excuse.

* * *

It's into the evening that they finally enter Yuga. With weapons mostly sealed into scrolls and Sasuke's Kusanagi strapped underneath his cloak, they pass through the gates of the pacifist town and divide up into twos. Suigetsu and Karin, the pickier eaters of the four, would go get takeout while Sasuke and Juugo search for rooms. The few shinobi here must recognize him, for they go to contact the Daimyo already gallivanting through the city.

Gone is the man's familiar stern disposition, replaced by a merriment only birthed from true peacetime. He meets up with Sasuke in the town square and mentions that he can help them into a nice inn with a beautiful assortment of both private, separated, and mixed onsen and a dazzling lounge meant to entertain guests.

"I am thankful for what Konoha did for my people and I," he says blessedly, and though Juugo notices Sasuke tense, nothing is said to correct the man. His lips twist into a frown under his mustache. "Though it's peaceful, of course there are the loose cannons. Even my beautiful Yugakure hasn't been so fortunate as to escape roguish activity."

Because Sasuke will likely not inquire, Juugo does so instead. "Roguish, Daimyo-san?"

"One or two misfits will come gliding in, usually for drinks and women and a dive into our onsen," he explains as they turn a corner and enter the nicer districts. "But a group of four arrived one week ago. They're rather rowdy but haven't done anything to cause public fear." _Yet_, is the redacted word. "They often visit the inn that you will be staying at and frequent the lounge." He waves his hand flippantly. "But I am not too worried. Your people protected us once and they continue to do so again."

Perhaps if they were anyone else, they would have asked for further elaboration. Juugo nearly did, but they'd already long arrived at the aforementioned establishment.

Gliding on in, the place has people moving to and fro, entering and exiting the entrance, the stairs, the halls and curtains to the right and the doors to the springs to the left.

The Daimyo chats with the innkeeper, claiming they had esteemed guests and that he'd like the four best single suites. Housekeeping is phoned immediately. Keys return to Sasuke and Juugo and the Daimyo bids them adieu, inviting them to a drink to the lounge some time tomorrow. He departs.

Sasuke glances at the keys and observes the shiny '423' on his, filing away the fourth floor room for later. "Inform Karin and Suigetsu of where we're staying," he tells Juugo, who nods his head and exits the establishment. Sasuke decides to head to the stairs but the keeper stops him.

"I apologize sir," he remarks, the words curtailing nervously at the intensity of bi-colored eyes. "But your rooms need to be cleaned by the housekeepers first. I invite you to relax in the lobby and we will be finished in twenty minutes." He throws in complementary bottles of sake and a free in-suite breakfast for the trouble, sweating since these were the Daimyo's guests, but Sasuke silently stalks to a chair by the entrance and sits.

He leans back and shuts his eyes, probing the area for any sign of his teammates in the radius. When the feedback comes back rather distant, his lip crinkles into a frown. Karin and Suigetsu really were too picky for their own good; paired with their bickering and it was no real surprise that they weren't back yet. If anything, the appearance of the Daimyo sped inn-searching up along so much.

Sighing, he vaguely wonders on whether the complementary sake could be delivered to him early. Indulgence in the alcohol usually occurred in passing but he did rather like the warmth of the drink. A look to the front desk hashed out the idea; the lobbyman is busy with a couple. Newlyweds, maybe.

Perhaps the lounge's bar can keep him occupied for the next twenty minutes.

Standing, the Uchiha stalks to the right and bypasses the curtain, following the flow of a group of people into the lounge area. Dimly lit to boost ambiance, the floor houses multiple loveseats and sidetables for drinks and chitchat, all facing a stage. The bar runs the length of the wall where the entrance is; he sits and orders himself some hot sake then leans against the counter, gazing at the crowd.

The rowdy men that the Daimyo had been talking about are easily located, the farthest from him and on the other side of the room. There are four, all holding bottles of drinks and talking loudly and loftily. Two scantily dressed women sit on their tables, smiling and touching.

As five minutes pass and nothing much happens, suddenly the lights dip and the stage is swarmed.

Women—about ten in total—glide from the back curtain like dancing nymphs, dressed in a way not meant to expose, but to enhance. They're antithetical to the rowdy men's company, Sasuke notes, because these women are magnificent in a classical sense. Long, shifting, sheer dresses with slits meant to wisp in a faux-breeze as they move; ribbons around necks, around wrists; hair lengthy, luxurious, loose—their every movement is meant to symbolize the wind and the air and they slip through the audience to captivate the crowd.

Even the ruffians slowly grow quiet as the alluring image plays. Sasuke momentarily looks away and observes as a woman with curling brunette hair and aqua-blue eyes brushes past him at the bar, slides her palm against the outside of his thigh, and curls a feline smile at him in greeting and goodbye. He sips his drink and relishes in the heat, unbothered by the notion. He does not leer at them but appreciates the way they move. It is artistic in a way far more delicate than that of a shinobi and it is pleasing to watch.

The last dancer—the eleventh—exits the curtain and the room's attention bottoms out upon her. Sasuke also looks and he nearly drops his cup, eyes a little wide and breath at a standstill.

She is dressed the same as the others, gyrating softly to the beat and walking without touching the ground. Slim, ivory-colored hands flutter through the air, playing imaginary instruments and tuning the song to her liking. Hair the color of roses trails behind her, curling gently because of its length; greens pierce into the audience.

It had to be tricks but Sasuke's whirring Sharingan—activated without his permission—cannot detect the ripples in a genjutsu. Instead it records the image of his ex-teammate dancing like a dusk nymph, ensuring that the sight is firmly seared into his mind.

Three years later with roads firmly forked apart and—just what the hell is _Sakura_ doing here?

* * *

Sakura effortlessly pivots on the sole of her feet, keen eyes locked on her four targets. They are busy, it seems, by the dancers closest to them, but as the two depart under her direction, one by one their stares fall upon her. Breaths hitch, hands clench, and suddenly the boisterous ruffians are nothing more than hormonal boys at her disposal.

"Targets distracted," she murmurs when her forearm passes over her lips, hiding their movement.

_"Copy."_

Her only aim for the night is to capture their attention to avoid suspicion. Over the course of her and her partner's stay, she would inch towards them, gaining their interest, their wants and their needs, until she can slip into privacy with one.

Though the Daimyo requested the removal of some rowdy misfits, intell told Konoha these weren't _just_ a bunch of loose-moraled men. Hailing from Sugi no Sato, Kakashi suspected that the movement of small-scale missing nin might be in response to the Mizukage's recent comatose state. With Mei transported for care to Konoha and gone from the helm, the Bloody Mist, home to thousands of rogues, has gotten wild. It has begun attracting the attention of other missing nin and is being called a second Shangri-la; infiltration is difficult without it being a bloodbath.

But it is also rumored that this next haven for ruffians is looking to battle for a leader; the alpha mentality must've come from _someone_, Shikamaru had suggested back in T&I. Maybe someone is orchestrating this so that he can dominate for the top spot with thousands of rogues at his disposal. The weak look to the powerful, after all. And the place is practically a ticking time bomb with so many restless hunters and its kage out of commission.

So if Sakura can collect intell on who might be informing and rallying nin into Kiri, then Konoha may have a point of entry and can plan for attack. The bonus is being able to take care of the men for the Daimyo, who approved and allowed the plan on the basis of nipping another large-scale fight before it can break out.

Pirouetting, Sakura changes course and emerges into the left-side prowling parallel to the bar and smiling in a way that makes hearts skip and breaths abate.

_"Sakura,"_ comes the voice of her taichou, mild and urgent. She carries on her dance but shifts her shoulder in reaction. _"Ahead of you, be caref__—"_

The words die because her eyes suddenly clash with two different colors: red and silver.

* * *

Sasuke is quiet and that might seem completely characteristic of him, but Karin knows better. She has been his teammate for five years now in total and is a sensor; knowing these small signs is in her nature.

His shoulders are very slightly hunched and his brows are barely drawn together. He is tense like a coil waiting to spring and his eyes are glassy and narrowed as if he's not at all looking at the map Suigetsu is gesticulating over with Juugo. The man who normally has such impeccable posture and attentive behavior is so very clearly _distracted._

_But why?_

Karin's lip lowers, wondering what might've left their captain in such a state. She has not seen him worked up and worn down in such a fashion since they'd left Konoha; for the most part he'd display irritation, annoyance, apathy, but nothing ever extreme.

He dismisses them after they empty their food and his carton of takeout is still full.

* * *

After the show, Sakura heads behind the curtain with the other dancers and rips off the ribbon around her neck, unable to breathe. She sits at the vanity table for a short while, staring at the green of her eyes and wondering distantly where the golden flecks have gone, but slaughters the thought when it brings up childhood laughter and a team of four under the number seven. Alternating red and silver echo when she turns away.

When the women who worked the crowd with her arrive after changing into their regular clothes, they give her pats on the shoulder and exchange good words after a job well done. Many give secretive smiles; after the Daimyo and innkeeper assigned Sakura this mission, she made it a point to have a few of the dancers informed on what she might need, what kind of help would be great, and the big-hearted girls readily agreed.

The kunoichi changes as well, then separates from the others who go to their downstairs dorms in the lower levels of the inn. She has her own room up with her mission partner.

Heading to the fourth floor, Sakura ventures deep down the halls into room 424 and knocks a signal of varying pressures. It smoothly slides open at the last hit and inside is she ushered. The temperature is cold when her partner confronts her up close and personal.

"What is Sasuke Uchiha doing here?" is Neji's greeting, colored in low aggressive tones. He almost sounds accusatory and Sakura is affronted. She pushes him away.

"You act like I _know_," she says on a defensive snarl, eyes narrowing. His hostility encourages hers. It didn't help that they'd fought over something unnecessary before they were assigned this mission together; now when the man who haunts her past has showed up in her present, her future is glaring at her in the eye and all it does is compound the negativity spiraling between them. "_Don't_."

"Don't _what_?" he spits, molten silver eyes gleaming in the dimness of their room. She approaches when he does, meets him halfway and presses her hand suddenly against his Adam's apple. His nostrils flare at the threatening gesture.

"Do not accuse me of anything, Neji Hyuuga." Because she knows that even if they have fucked and started something more, he will always think her the big-hearted, single-minded genin wherever Sasuke is concerned. It is almost as if Sakura and Neji's fresh history is shadowed heavily by Sakura and Sasuke's, and though it is true because it is _Sakura and Sasuke_, it is painful to think Neji is the one flinging it at her.

"If I had known he'd be here—"

"What? You'd what? _Turn down_ the mission?" Sakura's voice is not high pitched and shrill like it is when she argues with Ino or Naruto. It is low, dangerous, and Neji distantly thinks he should stop talking now but he is far too angry and jealous and high-strung to quit.

"I would have requested a suitable partner."

His declaration is much like a sharp slap and immediately does Sakura let go of him. His heart sinks when he registers the hurt and the guilt.

Despite usually ignoring it based on pride, his tone drops to a whisper and he reaches forward, scrambling to pick up the pieces he scattered himself. "I..." His breath pinches. "...I didn't mean..."

But he said it, so he must've. At least his instincts did. Sakura flinches away from his touch and his heart drowns.

For the last year since Sakura made ANBU, Neji and she had functioned beautifully as a duo. Kiba resigned from the shadow ranks and Shikamaru moved back into T&I on top of working with Kakashi—their four-man squad disbanded and Neji and Sakura are all that's left of ANBU Team 16.

Three months into it, on a sweet summer night in Taki, they had just finished an assassination, barely surviving through an onslaught of forty-something guards chunin level and above, and escaping into the forests that surrounded. The night chirped with crickets, the fireflies out after rain, and the heat that'd grown between them since a month prior (from countless compromising encounters and growing realizations) increased to a searing temperature because of the adrenaline and the rush and the sexuality that radiated off two polished, seasoned elites.

Clothes flew, skin touched, and the lust scorched them. They still wore blood like armor, were covered in dirt and sweat and twigs, but it fulfilled a burning need in them. Thrice did they go; the moon watched as two battle-hardened and world-weary nin fucked and fought and kissed and groaned into one another.

The physical attraction between them heightened but it'd _only_ remained physical, even if that wasn't totally the case any more for Neji. For Sakura too, perhaps, but she knows that until Neji gets over Sasuke's place in her heart—once big and now small but irreplaceable all the same—_nothing_ else can happen and they would only ever remain bodies to warm each other's beds.

So _this? _Questioning _her_ ability to perform on a mission when _he's _the one snapping? Suggesting she would've betrayed their partnership, their camaraderie, their _whatever_ because of _Sasuke Uchiha?_

Sakura really knows how to pick traitors, doesn't she?

She turns away from Neji and stalks into the shower to get rid of the smell of smoke and alcohol. He vaguely feels as though he has ruined what little the two of them have.

* * *

Across the hall, Sasuke is wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

Green appears every time he blinks.

* * *

When morning comes, Neji is gone and Sakura wakes up alone.

They didn't speak for the rest of the night and he probably couldn't stomach the tension so Neji left behind a note that punctually states, "_Scouting_," and drops nothingness in his wake. This is their mission; she performs at night when the ruffians are here, he scours in the day when the streets gossip. The fourth floor—the _highest_ floor in this expensive inn—is usually only reserved for the best and the esteemed and is therefore often empty.

Tired emotionally, mentally, and a little bit physically (because who ever truly recovers from war?), she sidles into the bathroom to shower and get dressed for the day. She'd need to touch bases with the girls again, reform a new plan and change up the positioning in their dance. She'd write up a report to Kakashi on their first week's progress, then examine the coded messages intercepted by a few Konoha nin prior to this assignment. The ruffians might be stupid but their recruiter is not.

Capping her plans with a nice breakfast, she reassembles a plain kimono onto her body, light and casual and colored a warm grey to match her hair and balance her eyes. Putting on a pair of flip flops designed almost like geta, she combs down her pink hair, tucks one side behind her ear, and exits her room.

Instincts faster than her brain can process occurs and she cleanly dodges the metal chopsticks that hurtle her way. When they clatter noisily to the ground, she glances back and takes in the scene of one of the servant boys stuttering and stammering, turning red and bowing profusedly at her and the man nearby.

Carefully, the man ignores the apologetic boy and sets the caught plate of dishes down on the dresser next to the door inside his room. He turns to look at where the chopsticks have gone and catches sight of one of his distant memories.

Wary and certainly not dreaming, Sakura stares back guardedly, barely registering the servant boy fleeing with a string of sorrys. She is stuck on the intensity of her ex-teammate's eyes. This is definitely not a textbook reunion.

There are no fireworks, no explosions. The sky does not collapse and the earth does not upheave.

It is only them, meeting again in the most random of circumstances.

The clouds still move and the planet still spins and he is still him and she is still her.

_(But not.)_

"...Sasuke."

There is no "-kun" as she faintly acknowledges him. She is very put together, he notices. Very hard to decipher despite such an expressive face. She is neutral, slightly distressed, vaguely curious, but her thoughts are not the open book he once knew how to read. This language is new and not for him to learn.

And then he angrily berates himself because assumption is any nin's greatest weakness. She is Sakura but she is not; he knows this but does not (want to) understand it.

"Sakura," he manages to reply.

They are not enemies, at least not on a loyalty standpoint. Sakura is devoted to Konoha and Sasuke is devoted to himself. They are both war heroes on the same side and they should not be hostile.

But their history refutes that deeply, like pouring alcohol on a wound. It is long and tired and has permanently carved shapes of each other in their chests.

She is the first to break their connection, he notices. Her head nods, then she moves to shuffle past him. He doesn't stop her, only watches, taking in her sweet smell when she passes, and continues to stare even after she has turned the corner. There is the barest color of chakra touching her repressed one, like a handprint on the back of the head or a whisper against the ear, and he frowns when he vaguely recognizes the signature but cannot put a name to its owner.

The other members of his team are waking up and he shuffles back into his room for his free breakfast.

* * *

Sakura stands behind backstage, before the room where the vanities and the other dancers are. Dressed primly in her performer's dress, she bathes in lowlight, giving the sheer material a pale rose glow. Her wrists flick from side to side, fiddling with the ribbon that ordinarily circles her neck.

That same little strip of cloth is suddenly lifted, brought to her throat and tied in the back. Fingers gently brush her hair away and a warm breath kisses her skin.

"Is everything prepared?"

She huffs slightly because of course he is focused deeply on the mission and not on anything else. She fights the need to yank away from him and leave; that is unprofessional.

"Yes. Sit closer to the targets. I'll be entering the right side," she informs, feeling him nod behind her. When he is done and their exchange is finished, Sakura turns to pass him and enter the dressing area, but he stops her.

When dim green meets moonstone, he stares for several seconds, reading her without really searching for anything. His eyes are not cold but not hot; they are calculative and intense and she stares back with an equally greyed expression. She is tired and waiting for whatever he wants to say.

But he does not say anything first. Instead, the lips that should be talking are lowering, touching hers, moving slowly in a dance that mimics the one she does on the floor. There is an apology on his tongue, sweet and soft, and he does not prod further than this chaste kiss.

It does not fix or mend anything, merely eases, lifts, lightens the burden of their fight and she thinks this is a good start but he is not left off the hook. She responds just that with the pressure of her tongue, and his sigh is relieved and understanding.

"You are the only partner I'd ever want," he whispers, voice deep and low and enriched with truth. She knows that it has multiple meanings and such a phrase begins a civil war in her swelling and exhausted heart. But he does not push and does not force, instead giving one more gentle kiss before pulling away altogether.

Then he is gone, masked by a henge that still makes him equally handsome but dangerously forgettable.

* * *

Sasuke's eyes unwittingly follow her again.

He sits in the center of the floor with his team, them and the Daimyo busily exchanging conversation over drinks. Karin is proudly scolding Suigetsu who continues to talk appreciative and leering words about the dancers dressed like the breeze; Juugo is good-naturedly speaking to the Daimyo. Their eyes stray when a woman passes and they are thoroughly enraptured by the beauty that graces them.

But Sakura is over by the bar and he is the only one who has noticed her; a silken sheet is draped over her head, masking the lush rosiness of her hair with a muted, pale pink to match the others. She slinks forward like a feline, riding the tune of the music down the row of bar stools.

Eyes touch her, caress her, some dirty and promising pleasure, some grateful and promising a lifetime. The dress is the same, cut like a goddess with its slits to show cream legs and its halter top to show smooth, round breasts. Her hips swivel, slow-roll against the rhythm of the song. Fingers twitch to touch when she passes.

She does not get physical with anyone, he notices, unlike the other dancers who briefly leave whispering fingertips. He barely recalls the brunette with sky-blues from yesterday and her hand on his thigh. Sasuke thinks this further amplifies the image that says Sakura is unattainable.

Then her path changes.

Swapping with the same brunette dancer, Sakura glides across the floor and begins crossing to the other side. She is close, a table away from theirs, and Suigetsu perks up when the women shed their silk and sway it to the beat.

His eyes narrow and recognition alights them.

"Hey, wait a second," he mutters, and Karin stops talking for once. "Don't I know her?"

"Who?" Karin's view is blocked by Juugo and she strains to see beyond the bigger guy. Suigetsu on her other side points, attentive and mouth gawking a bit.

"Yeah, I do!" He elbows Sasuke next to him and his octaves drop. "Pinky, right?"

Karin freezes and so does Sasuke. Juugo turns around to look, then nods. "Haruno-sensei," he says because he remembers the doctor who treated him after the war. The Daimyo quickly hushes their party.

"Really. You are shinobi, no?" he scolds, and Juugo's lips press shut and cheeks turn red, realizing that perhaps Sakura is meant to be under a cover. The old man glances to his right at Sasuke, then leans closer to the table. He nudges his shoulder back and the Uchiha looks at the ruffians still in their same spot, all of whom are now silent and staring at the woman with dusk-colored hair. He distantly wonders if they are truly uninformed and stupid for not recognizing a war hero, but then figures that her allure is not in her hair. The other women here are just as oddly colored.

Their eyes do not blink as Sakura draws closer, and now she is in front of the table that is before the Daimyo's, in plain sight and tangling herself to the music. Juugo is awestruck, Suigetsu is gaping, and Karin is frowning. The Daimyo sighs contentedly, pleased with being in the company of such beauty, and Sasuke observes the way Sakura is rippling against the tide of the song.

And then the room visibly hitches when the calculating cupid woman finally touches someone—the man sitting alone at the table one away from theirs. Her hands are feminine, slim, expertly drumming along the man's shoulders and chest. She caresses his chin, his cheek, leans forward to whisper her body over his. He is clearly attentive, highly enchanted, and both thoroughly aroused and attracted by the sensual mix of a vixen and a maiden.

Her lips meet his ear in farewell and she departs, the song folding into a close. She catches Sasuke's eyes but no part of her expression moves. It remains stuck in its lusty innocence meant for the show.

She is good, he admits. Good at what she is doing.

Then she is gone with the others. Hands erupt in applause, words are being thrown, and Sasuke, who vaguely understands now why Sakura is here, listens to the ruffians speak. Clearly, she has achieved what she wanted because their words fall along the line of thinking that that man is a lucky bastard.

Sasuke's eyes abruptly narrow in on the back of the aforementioned guy's head, who downs his drink and leans against his chair. He recognizes that chakra now and the conclusions he jumps to are endless.

Karin is still frowning, especially after watching all of Sasuke's expressions move throughout the song.

* * *

Neji's chest vibrates when he growls. Sakura can feel it beneath her hand when he takes her.

She had entered their shared room, prepared to discuss their progress, have a short dinner and probably shower, but instead she had been taken in before her knock was complete. Pressed against the closed door with a silencing jutsu erected on all four walls, dim silver greets her eyes. They're glassy, clouded, full of a deep appreciation and a need.

And because he is good at making her wants echo his, she lets his mouth touch hers and wreak havoc.

His teeth and tongue are unforgiving and she equally takes as she gives; she jumps to wrap long legs around his trimmed hips and he catches her and slams her against the door to grind his sex against hers. He unloads his insecurities and she doles out her punishment.

Her hand touches the knob and the leverage lets her push. Neji teeters, stumbling to the bed and Sakura hikes her upper body higher so that she can land on top when he falls. The impact is covered quickly by the downward roll of her hips and his angry grunt turns into a lusty hiss. He responds, thrusting so that their cores are thumping and hitting and grinding and she grits her teeth and tears away his shirt.

He cuts down the middle of her dress with rough hands, then smooths them over creamy, curvy skin warmed to match his temperature. She works his pants away, and when their underwear is flung, their mouths lock and their hips rush to meet. When she sinks onto him, he tugs her bottom lip into his teeth so that he can hear her sweet, pleased cry at being thoroughly filled by him. His pride swells and his cock twitches in her wet, silken heat.

They fuck like they are fighting: roughly, violently, like this is a spar and there can only be one winner. The pent up frustration, anger, the irritation, the jealousy, the confusion, spout into nothing but sexual fervor and scorching flames.

He flips them and her breath is stuck when he impales himself so deeply that his pelvis grinds against her clit when their hips touch. Her toes curl and her hips lift off the bed. She pants, painting the room with her cries and screams, and he coaxes them out with long, hard strokes of his dick.

She cums once, harshly and tightly, and he does not still. He is too unhinged and aggravated and aroused by the way she dances on the floor, so he takes one ankle and flips her while he is still inside, then continues to hammer away without bothering to wait for her to calm down. Hypersensitized, her back arches and her throat is scratchy from her screams as he builds her up again to the brink of insanity.

He fucks and he fucks.

He vaguely thinks that this encounter is just as fervent and volatile as their first, but he cannot bring himself to care much when Sakura reaches back and presses her hand to his hips, his ass, and he spasms harshly inside her, grinding like he's stirring up the white-hot heat of pleasure beneath her stomach. He is close, needs to anchor himself, so he grasps the perfect ass that bounces when he thrusts, then decides off-handedly to spank it so that he can punish her as she is punishing him.

Violent is her unraveling, and she cums so deeply and so harshly that he curses, his hips stutter. His climax rips through him and he fucks into her as hard as he can, blinded by her and his pleasure.

He collapses when he dives from the tidal wave, turning so that he falls onto his side and does not crush her. Their breaths are harsh, labored, and he is grateful for their constant silencing jutsu because he is sure that the entire village could have heard them.

As he struggles to level his breathing, he stares at the ivory expanse of Sakura's back in the moonlight, on display because she is lying on her stomach.

Bathed in hues of silver, she attracts his attention, forcing his eyes across the strong line of her shoulders, the feminine dip of her waist and curve of her hips. Marks shaped like his teeth begin to appear and he knows that the aches on his neck and chest are matching ones made by her. She glows in the aftermath of their sex—or perhaps she is always glowing anyways.

Beautiful, sensual, so deceptively clean and sweet and so deeply sinful and seductive.

Sakura is a dangerous mix, he thinks, and it is no wonder why Tsunade once thought her a good candidate for seduction missions. Rarely does she go the full nine yards with her targets; he knows because he is usually her partner and watcher for such missions. Her knowledge of the human body and erogenous points and genjutsu make it so she does not have to do more than touching and kissing and grinding to have secrets spilled. He is no exception.

Like a sword, her body is a weapon she maintains and polishes, and it is in this thought that Neji feels himself fixated on bringing her to the edge again.

He leans over to kiss her neck. "Round two?" he murmurs, voice low and rough and filled to the brim with implicative heat. She chuckles, breathy and deep, and shivers run up his spine the way they do whenever her clean tone becomes husky and seductive.

"You're an asshole," she says, turning her head so she is looking at him.

Amused eyes colored like Konoha's forest in the nighttime greet him and his stomach coils in anticipation.

They dim briefly. She hesitates, then says a quiet, "...I'm sorry."

No. He softens because _no_—

"I'm the sorry one."

And he means it for many things, and because he is Neji Hyuuga and he shares the same dictionary as Sasuke Uchiha, she nods, her smile kind and his heart swollen. She understands.

Their relationship is still confusing, still physical, but not _only_ physical, and she is unsure of what it might mean but he is willing to jump and explore with her. They are floundering in the weird points because their relationship is out of order, but it is sincere_._

Whatever was once built between Sakura and Sasuke is much like the ruins of a civilization. It is old, worn, filled with ivy and moss, but it will always stand. Neji shouldn't continue trying to excavate the old city of their history.

Instead he should focus on the one he and Sakura might currently be building, whether it is here to stay or not.

For now is the enthusiasm of physical intimacy (—and then they'll get to the emotional one when they go home).

She adjusts her shoulders and leans over him, much like a prowling feline eyeing her prey. Her teeth trace his chin and his groan is low and rumbling. "What were you saying about round two?" she asks, and he smirks, eyes igniting.

* * *

Outside, the hovering Sasuke stands before their door, his ears filled with cotton. His Sharingan, able to pick a little through their silencing jutsu, eavesdropped on the better half of their intimacy and both his head and chest are a muddled grey of everything negative under the sun. He's angry, irritated, betrayed, hurt, lost, and a little confused that such things are surfacing when _he_ left _them._

_He _left _her._

And it seems that he has chased her out of his heart and into the arms of another man.

His fists clench the material of his pants.

Would his and Sakura's civilization be remembered in the history books like the Garden of Ryumyaku, or forgotten like the kingdom of Roran?

He goes to bed thinking of green trees protected by the moonlight because all the proud flames of the Uchiha does is burn the forests to the ground. He dreams of a beautiful, pink-haired nymph moaning at the hands of a man with the stars in his eyes, of him holding the marble treasure chest containing her heart, and Sasuke holding the empty wooden one she left behind.

* * *

Karin notices a change in him the next morning. Blood rushes to her head when she remembers the image of pink and green wrapped in sheer rose and satin.

She is smart despite what Suigetsu says. Not by the books, but by deception and deduction. _So_ this_ is the reason he has left for so long, that he has gone on this journey with them_, she muses as they pack and prepare their cloaks for Shimo. The map they slaved over is folded in half in his hands, new scribbles and pathlines marking its face. They are shorter, circular, and one or two seem to actually touch the outposts he so dearly wished to skip not too long ago.

She wonders if they really will comb through the west, and if they do, where they might go after.

Maybe they won't.

Maybe they'll change their plans.

Sasuke might be a stray bullet but he is no wanderer, she thinks. He has a place he belongs. Fire is in his lungs, in his veins, and where else may that flame be fanned but the country for which it is named? The Will of Fire is Konoha bled and bred and _that_ is Sasuke Uchiha.

He simply denies "home" because he thinks it is not _for_ him. But he is not a wanderer.

On the other hand, she and Taka—they _are_; they are nomads with no home. They are the kinds of people that you forget about in a heartbeat.

* * *

Sasuke thinks this had been a lost opportunity.

Perhaps if she had come here alone on a solo mission, without the other man, if she had bothered him, then things might've been different. His heart might still be confused, still wondering, still yearning, and maybe he could have thought about what it would be like to settle and figure out the second half of the goals he declared when he was twelve.

But as it stands, she is not alone, she is with another man (relationship unknown but close enough because she wouldn't just sleep with _any_ man. But then she is also a Sakura he does not know. Neither thought comforts him), and she has not bothered him. He is still kind of confused, maybe yearning, maybe wondering, but the person that could have caused him to take a step did not come to make him do so.

Therefore he does not.

He pockets the world that he might've had with Sakura, holds it close to his chest and thinks about whether the Uchiha and their cursed bloodline will die with him. Maybe their honor will be restored in a different way if he dies redeemed and a war hero. Their honor would sit in the history books instead of with his children.

He wants to accept this but his heart aches, even as he heads for the entrance to Yuga's village and half-heartedly listens to the Daimyo exchanging farewells with his team.

Just the sight of Sakura has pulled loose a thread in the seams of his deepest desires for a home, family, life, and he vaguely thinks that maybe if he wants this chance, that he should be in Konoha to challenge Neji for her heart like a proper man.

He runs a lot, he admits. Like a shinobi, he runs often, but he has been running _away_ and not _towards_ these things because he believes himself undeserving. This is why he retired from the village shrouded in leaves so long ago. His road to redemption is bigger than the walls and gates of that little town. He wanted to be left alone but he has never liked feeling lonely; he never said he wouldn't return.

_Soon,_ he amends.

He knows it is a longshot, that it's maybe late, but the cards of the universe have gambled in his favor often. He asks for one more. He hopes he still has a single fighting chance left.

* * *

**So uh. Gang gang, I guess.**

**Totally nonsensical and not really meant to be taken too seriously. The depth is all yours to gauge. It was more of a style and story experiment and idk man, I really do adore this story (and NejiSaku, but wbk).**

**Anyways, thanks for reading!**

**\- burrblefish**


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